Beyond What Sparkles
by revenge.is.sweet92
Summary: Thrown into a world where myths are true, and fairy tales exist, Isabella Swan has second thoughts about which world she truly belongs in. So Vampires sparkle, and Werewolves shape shift, but what about humans? Is normalcy overrated? Could Bella miss it?
1. 00 Prologue

**NOTE: THIS IS SET TO TAKE PLACE AFTER ECLIPSE, AND INSTEAD OF BREAKING DAWN. BELLA IS EIGHTEEN, AND IS IN THE MIDST OF THE 'VAMPIRE OR NOT' DECISION.**

**Beyond What Sparkles**

**Prologue**

Beautiful. Everything here is so beautiful but so… so cold. I reach out my long fair fingers for a still red rose in the blinding light, and relish the velvety smooth texture of its blood-colored petals. Such a sensual thing a rose is, I can't help but think as I continue to run my fingers over its smoothness. Oh, how I could fall asleep in a very rose bed, and blissfully roll around in quintessential beauty.

But something's wrong here. I feel it nudging furiously at my gut, and I know it, because instinct tells me so. And that's when it comes – the sharp feeling of ice coldness slicing through my veins like icicle blades. I tear my hand away from the glimmering rose. So pretty, it is, and at the same time, lethal. I see it now. I see it's thorns now, and for the first time, I am scared of it. Dead scared.

The coldness runs from my hands up to my shoulders, and trapped in claws of ice pain, I fall to the snow ground like a soft doll.

What's this around me? It isn't just snow. Why, it even shines! It sparkles underneath the light. Glitter. Yes, glitter and sparkles – so much of it, and so pretty like the rose, but –

I double over in pain, clutching at myself for lost comfort. The sparkling glitter, the magnificent rose, the soft snow… Why are such beautiful things so painful to my human fingers?

And this world… Where am I? No, this does not look like my world. The sky is white, the ground is white – everything is white! Except for the blood red roses, but even those are too beautiful to be real.

I long to go home! Where is my home, my world? Take me back to warmth. Take me back – I can't stand this cold world any more…


	2. 01 A Spontaneous Decision

**Chapter One – A spontaneous decision.**

The coldness in my limbs begins to fade, and I am left with a deep voice resounding in my ear. I know this voice – it is the most familiar, soothing voice of all the voices I have heard in my lifetime. As I slowly come back to consciousness, I reach my hand towards this voice of comfort, and find cool, hard flesh beneath my fingertips.

"Edward," I mutter to myself, and call to him at the same time, half expecting there to be silence in response. But I begin to feel a brush of gentle fingers across my cheeks, and my eyes flutter open to meet the beautiful, but distressed, face of Edward Cullen.

"You're awake," he says in a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry I couldn't have awoken you sooner. You were whimpering, as though you were in pain. Did you have a bad dream?"

His concern leaks through his voice, and his many words come rushing to me as a whirl of indecipherable noises and sounds. "Just a bad dream…" I groan, attempting to keep my eyelids from giving into heaviness and closing.

Drowsily, I force my body into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes furiously. The sunlight is streaming in through my windows, and it soaks Edward in a glimmering, diamond bath. It is a beautiful sight, but I find I cannot stand it, for the thought of my nightmare snow has suddenly begun to fill my mind, refusing to leave. I feel my body harden at the painful memory and quickly, I turn myself away from the penetrating eyes of Edward, before he can notice even a slight change in my expression.

"I'm sorry, Bella," the velvety, deep voice comes again apologetically. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."

"It's not your fault," is all I can say, before taking a seat at my newly arranged dressing table. I pluck a wooden comb from a drawer, and run its teeth through my dark hair, smoothing out any tangles that tosses and turns might have left in it, and in two seconds, Edward is behind me. He gazes at our reflections in the mirror with piercing, magnificent golden eyes. To this day, I still cannot understand how he manages to not be entranced by them – from warm honey, to hard gold, they convey his very emotions. Spectacular, they are.

"Something's wrong," he concludes, after a moment of examining my every move and my darkening expression. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I say, and I know full well as I say it that it is a horrible lie. My dream has caused something in me to shift, and change drastically – something I cannot verbalize at this very moment, something that I cannot pin down. "Just a little shaken up from my dream, that's all."

As he crosses my room to the sun soaked window, I watch his reflection with wary eyes, almost as though somehow he would be able to finally pluck my deepest thoughts from their very pockets in my mind and read them like a book. But alas, I remember, he cannot – I am the one exception to all vampire abilities, protected as though by a mental stone wall.

In silence, I proceed to my cabinet of clothing, anxious for some sort of verbal response from Edward. "What are you thinking about?" I decide to ask.

"Nothing," he responds, body practically frozen in place.

I roll my eyes, sarcasm guiding my tongue. "Right."

"Being lied to sure is frustrating, isn't it?"

When I glance back over at him, I find he is now facing me with hard eyes that seem to look right through me as though I were transparent. Words are stuck in my throat at this point, and I avoid his eyes, continuing my business with getting dressed. I pull out a pair of jeans, and a black tank top.

"Edward, I think I need to get away for a while." The words spill out of my mouth almost unintentionally, like a clumsy child might spill a drink with an unsteady hand. "Away from Forks. Just some time alone."

There is a sudden longing in me to be stopped, for him to tell me not to go, and perhaps show a slight rip or tear in his seemingly permanent calm exterior. _Tell me not to go, Edward, _I plead silently. _Tell me I'm being ridiculous, and that you want me here with you._

But "Okay, Bella," is all he says in reply. His body is still and calm, and his face is expressionless. I pull my oversized pajama shirt over my head, and kick off my shorts, but there is no physical reaction in the vampire I see. _Goddamn it, Edward. Want me. Show some sign of lust for my body._

But even this brings about nothing from him. He watches me, calmly, and then turns to make for the window, once again. "Don't tempt me," he says.

"Why can't you just _be _tempted?" I ask, desperately.

"Because you know it's dangerous, Bella," he warns, angrily. "So please. Stop it, and put some clothes back on."

"It wouldn't be so dangerous if I were what you were. Then you could be tempted, and there would be nothing to worry about – "

"Bella," he speaks, firmly. "Just. Stop. It."

With these last few words, I reach under my bed for my empty backpack, and forcefully throw in some clothes to last me a few days. There is unexplained anger inside my body, and it leaves a scowl burnt onto my pale face. Hastily, I throw on my clothes, and in barely a second, Edward is at my side, scrutinizing my hard expression. "You're upset," he observes, carefully lifting a hand to brush gently along my cheek. "I've upset you, Bella."

_No, shit. _I mentally hiss at him. I hold myself still to feel his skin against my face, and when it comes, I am reminded vaguely of feathers. No, it feels not like a hand at all, but light feathers.

He glances down at my half-packed bag. "Where do you plan to go exactly?"

"I don't know," I respond, truthfully, shoveling random items into the open mouth of my backpack. Finally, I reach for my car keys and wallet on the dresser, and shove them into my pocket. "I'll keep driving and see where my car happens to take me, I guess."

I am aware of Edward's eyes fixed to me, as I begin to scribble on a sheet of notepaper. _Dad, _I begin to write. _I'm going away for a while. Just a short break from Forks, and then I promise I'll be back. Two weeks at the very most. Don't worry about me. If mom calls, try to keep her from freaking out. I love you. Bella. P.s. Don't forget to eat while I'm gone."_

With my bag over one arm, I shuffle down the stairs, and leave the note open on the center of the kitchen table. Charlie will be fine, I try to assure myself, as I frantically open kitchen cabinets to make sure there is still food inside them. When I exit the house, Edward is standing stock still by my red truck with arms folded across his chest.

I gaze up into his golden eyes, waiting for some sort of objection to my spontaneous decision to leave. "Should I be worried, Bella?" he asks, holding my face in his cold hands.

"No," I answer, not quite sure whether this is a lie or not. It is possible I will find mid-way through my drive that I am being stupid, and overreacting over a ridiculous little dream, and it is very possible that I will then decide to turn back for Forks. But with one possibility, another one always remains, and it flashed across my mind just then that I could very well stay away for two weeks, and… who knew what would happen to me, while I was gone. Nevertheless, I leave my answer as it is, and remain still so he cannot sense my doubt.

"Good," he says, calmly, as a satisfied smile breaks across his features. "Remember I love you, Bella. I'll be thinking about you. Try to come back to me without any new scars or bruises."

"I love you too," I respond, with a sincere smile, and with a soft kiss upon his cool lips. I heave myself into the driver's seat of my truck, and twist the key in the ignition. As my car roars to life, I pass Edward another reassuring smile and slowly begin my journey away from Forks.

I drive and drive, past sights and signs, and I never once look back at what I leave behind. I have not a clue where I am going, and although it might displease Edward some, it thrills me beyond words.

**NOTE: I would really appreciate some hard, honest reviews on my work. I plan to stop writing after chapter three, if I do not receive any, so please, whether you enjoy this or not, leave me a review.**


	3. 02 Strangers

**Note: Chapter has been edited.**

**Chapter Two – Strangers**

About six or so hours away from Forks, there is a town called Seaside that sits along the coast, in the state of Oregon. It is small, perhaps even as small as Forks, and like it's name suggests, is situated by expansive, mysterious ocean. It is not out of lack for something interesting to say that I bring this up, for this little town is where I find myself, after my long, tiresome drive.

The journey has drained me of all my energy, and I know that even if a small part of me regrets ever leaving Forks, it is too late to go back. I am far too tired, and it is far too late.

As I zoom past the "Welcome to Seaside, Oregon" sign, I find my mind fumbling over a strange concept, even in all it's tiredness – fate. It is an idea I'd never paid much attention to, or ever really believed in, but I can't help but feel curious and wonder about the strange manner in which my journey to Seaside has progressed. I hadn't even come close to getting lost, and even through my unpredictable, unusual travel route, I seemed to know where I was going. Was I driving? Or did I let fate take the wheel?

It was almost as if I'd known this town would be sitting here, waiting for me, waiting to show me something spectacular –

"_Stupid, Bella,"_ I hiss inwardly, cursing myself for the thoughts lack of sleep has brought me. Fate is an idiotic concept, designed to make a human being feel helpless, like something else is in control of our life. It's completely unrealistic, just like –

Why, just like vampires. Or werewolves. Or beings with unusual, superhuman abilities. Those were all extremely unrealistic, and extraordinary ideas.

Yet they were true.

I think of Edward suddenly, with his glowing, opal skin, that seems to turn to diamonds in the light. If only I were not an exception to his vampire gift, he would know every single thought that raced through my jittery skull. I wouldn't have to open my mouth. I wouldn't have to worry about verbalizing feelings I can't describe. He would just _know. _Perhaps, that would have been better.

Or perhaps not. Who knows what Edward would find in this little head of mine.

I am distracted by these spinning thoughts, momentarily, forgetting something extremely important – accommodation. Where am I to stay for the duration of my visit to Seaside? My truck would be less than comfortable, and besides, who knows what happens at night in a place like this. After vampires and werewolves, there is very little that I am not paranoid about.

I glance left and right through the windows of my truck, snapping out of my rambling thoughts and rejoining reality. Lining the streets I see nothing even remotely resembling an inn, or a motel - nothing, but little stalls and stores selling handmade jewelry and clothes.

I realize, suddenly, the violent grumbling of my stomach, and when I check my wristwatch, I learn that it is five in the evening, nearly time for dinner.

At the first sight of a café, I bring my truck to a halt by the side of the road. Through the glass windows, I can make out a couple of heads. Not too crowded, and not empty. A good choice, it seems.

I scrunch a couple of bills into my jeans pocket, swing my coat over my shoulder, and head inside for the front counter. I gaze around at the various other customers as I pass them, and find many eyes upon me. I avoid their stares, however, trying to focus my attention onto the chalkboard menu above the cashier.

In the back of my mind, and in my limbs, there is a strange sort of comfort that settles. The people that surround me here are all total strangers. This isn't Forks anymore, and nobody here knows about me, or my father, or my mother. I'm not "Charlie's Daughter" anymore. I'm just Bella – Isabella Swan. And in fact, if I didn't want to be, I didn't have to be – no one here would know any better. They don't know a thing about me or where I've come from.

The woman at the counter waits expectantly for my order, with blue eyes, and I can see as I gaze into them that she is tired. "I'll have a Caesar salad and a mushroom soup," I tell her, plucking the bills from my pocket. "And an apple juice."

I hand over the money required and collect my change, before remembering…

"Do you know if there's some sort of inn or motel around here?" I ask the lady before me, stuffing the change back into my jeans pocket.

"There's the Sunset Motel, a couple of blocks away –"

"The Sunset Motel's a shithole," a deep voice interrupts, from behind me. The woman at the counter raises an eyebrow, and I glance around to see who has spoken.

"A shithole?" I repeat, questioning the voice's statement, eying the man before me. The first thing I notice of his appearance is his shaggy brown hair, hiding his eyes almost completely. I move aside, to let him order, watching his quick, rough and almost aggressive movements. Something about him intimidates me deeply, and a little part of me is frightened to speak.

"Full of old couples who hobble along the corridors, and young couples who make love and leave the doors open," he responds gruffly, stepping forward to the woman at the counter. "But if you like that sort of thing, go ahead. Sunset Motel, a couple of blocks away on Glenwood road. Oh, and don't open the cabinets, you just might find a dead body."

As he places his order, I stand there, half-confused and half-surprised at his directness. I watch him, and the cigarette perching between his lips as he grapples with the money in his pockets.

"Alright, so the Sunset Motel's a shithole. Anywhere less, err… shithole-y?"

The shaggy man turns to me, chuckles at my words, and flashes a crooked smile. I see now as I gaze upon his face that he is young. Mid-twenties, I decide - twenty five, maybe even twenty six.

"If you head over to Emery road, and down into ninth, you'll find the Greyhill Inn," he finally tells me, "It's decent. My big brother runs it."

With a quick, curt nod, and without giving me a chance to thank him, he steps past me, and settles himself into a small table in a near corner, draping his leather jacket onto the seat beside him and leaning forward on his elbows. His fingers tap against the table's surface to an imaginary beat, and I simply observe him, for a while, before the woman at the counter announces my meal is ready.

Twelve minutes later, there is nothing in the plate in front of me, and the bowl that once held mushroom soup is empty. I drink what remains of the apple juice in my glass, and glance over at the stranger in the opposite corner, as I prepare to leave. He is sipping what seems to be coffee, and flicking through a magazine, casually and quite disinterestedly.

With a quick smile at the tired woman at the counter, I exit the café and slip back into my truck. _"The Greyhill Inn, it is."_


	4. 03 The Missing Piece

**Chapter Three - The Missing Piece**

I find the sign that marks Emery Road several blocks down from the café, and the rest of the drive is cake, from then on. I glance left and right for a sign of the Inn, and it isn't long before my eyes catch sight of a very brightly lit front porch in the near distance. I squint, and see, in the front garden, a sign that, from an angle, seems to read 'Greyhill Inn' and I turn slowly into the small parking lot adjacent to it.

Charlie would definitely be home by now, I realize, as I ease the truck into a free parking space. He's read my note, and is probably terribly, terribly confused. I see it now as I think about him – his furrowed eyebrows, and his worried eyes. He'll fold up the letter, and sit down at the kitchen table, not quite so sure what to do with himself. Then he'll make himself some eggs, or maybe even put in the effort to make himself a sandwich.

I contemplate calling him as I swing my bulging backpack over my shoulder. He's probably realized by now I've left my cell phone at home, and knows there's absolutely no way to reach me unless he knows exactly where I am, which he does not. I see him again, in my mind, bursting into my room just to make sure I'm not hiding. He'll glance around at the various things laid out on my desk and on my dressing table, searching for some sign of what's sent me off onto my little journey. He won't find anything. Charlie never does.

And I know Edward's at home. Either in deep discussion with Carlisle or playing the piano, beautifully and sweetly, like usual. He'll pause every now and then to silently wonder what I'm up to, and then continue with his business like usual. But I'll still sit in the back of his mind. I know Edward. Almost like the back of my hand.

My thoughts then wander to the space in my heart – the space where an important part of my life used to fit. Jacob. Who knows where he is now, and who knows what he's doing. Is he running wild through the forest in wolf form? And am I always in the back of his mind like I am in Edward's? I wish I knew, but I don't have a clue. And as I try to fight the thought of him away, I find the memory of our kiss trying to fight back.

But Edward and I are engaged, I remind myself, and that means forever, doesn't it? I can't dwell on the past - I can only be excited for the future. Or at least, that's what people have been telling me.

I push through the Inn's double doors, and wait at the front counter for someone to greet me. I observe the front room as I wait, patiently, letting my eyes run up and down the dark beige walls, and across the wood paneled floor. Hung around me are the expected decorations – little drawings and paintings of Seaside, from over the years – and there is a long wooden staircase to my right, with a deep red rug draped over the steps. Unlike the front porch, the entrance room is not so blindingly bright, and I am grateful for this, as over the past year or so, my eyes have grown quite sensitive to bright lights.

The door behind the counter swings open, finally, and a man with unusually neat dark hair approaches me. "May I help you?" he asks me, a cordial smile across his little pale cheeks. Even in the dim light, I can see the pool of blue and green in the center of his almond shaped eyes. They are familiar – incredibly familiar – and it isn't long before I remember the man at the cafe. Definitely his brother, I decide, as I give into the urge to smile at the brightness in his face. It was what seemed to separate him from his brother – the brightness, the stars in his little eyes.

He is young, I realize, but not quite as young as his younger brother. He is obviously kind, but even so, I notice his aura is one of someone young trying desperately hard to be older. His well held together composure is forced, and I doubt he even needs the glasses that sit on his nose.

"My name is Isabella Swan. Is there a room available for… one person?" I say.

He doesn't seem to have to think too hard about it. "Well, there sure is!" he immediately exclaims, grinning like my stay has won him a prize. He flips a leather bound book open in front of him, and I watch, silently noting how his body movements are so unlike his brother's.

After a blur of questions and details, he slides a key across the counter, towards me. "Well, I'm Mr. Greyhill. Let me know if you need anything. Room 108 is yours," he tells me, "It's on the floor above. Enjoy!"

I return the smile, and snatch the key from the counter. "Thank you."

And mere moments later, I am greeting room 108 with a long sigh of relief, and a contented smile. It isn't exactly home, but it is at least what the younger Greyhill brother told me it would be – decent.

I run my long fingers along the beige bedcovers and without another thought, fall back into them, letting my eyes drift shut as my body closes against the soft sheets. I gaze up at the ceiling, thinking over my day's journey. From the moment I'd woken to Edward's troubled face, to the ticking seconds of the present. From one town to another, from the Swan house to the Greyhill Inn…

And suddenly I feel overwhelmed by everything – by the thought of my truck's grumbling engine, to the café, to the stares of strangers, to the bed I lie on. My whole day flashes through me, drowning me in a sea of pictures and sounds. I feel myself slowly drifting into a deep sleep, and the last things I see of the world before me are the colours that surround me. Dark brown, and dark red – the colour of earth, and the colour of blood. Earth and blood, earth and blood…

……………..

The shadows sift right through me, and it is pitch black here, wherever it is I am. The air is not air, because there is nothing here but a gaping void, and absence. I try to move, but I have no body, and even my attempts at speaking are futile.

Where have I gone, or rather, where have these shadows taken me?

I am a mess of confusion, and I know I would be furrowing my eyebrows, if I could. My eyes would widen, and my gaze would drift. But alas, my eyes are gone, with the rest of my body, and with the rest of the world I once knew.

Suddenly, a light goes on and in the shadows there is a glow of white - like a spotlight on a dark stage – and a familiar figure steps out, and into it. Edward, of course, with his auburn hair, and an expression on his face that clearly reads he has something important to do - something that needs to be done, and done right.

He walks forward, towards me, and as the light follows him, I see his skin is glimmering and glowing, but somehow, not as brightly as it usually does.

When he comes to a halt in front of me, I try to reach out and touch his hand, his face…. But there is nothing. I am still nothing, and yet he stares into where I am, with his head cocking to one side, and a look of scrutiny on his face, but what is there to scrutinize? If I can't see myself, surely he can't see me. Surely he does not even know I am here.

Edward gets to his knees, and for a moment he is back in the shadows again. I cannot see him, and the bright light is now upon me - shining into me, and where my body would stand.

When he re enters the light, he is carrying a large load in his arms - broken pieces, they seem to be – and he picks up the smallest piece, and places it in the space my shoulder would be. Instantly, I feel a part of myself regenerate, and although I cannot see it, I can _feel _my shoulder – I can feel that a part of my body has come back to me.

Piece by piece, he lays it upon me, and soon enough, I have a couple of fingers to wiggle, I have feet to tap, and even lips to kiss him with, if only I had a back to bend forward, to reach him. The load in Edward's arms has decreased significantly in size, and when he finally gives me my eyes, I see that I am nowhere near whole.

He lays upon me another piece, and then another, and finally, he has but just one last piece. His eyes wander what has formed of my body so far, and finally he places it below my right wrist, and my right hand regenerates. I lift my right arm to my eyes as it unfurls before me, and I see a small diamond ring around my engagement finger. My engagement ring, no doubt.

_Our engagement ring. _

At the sight of this, smiles spread clear across both our faces, and I exclaim, with bright eyes: "Edward! – "

But wait a second. Where is my heart? That feeling that used to burst through my veins at moments like these, does not come. I glance down at my chest, and of course, I realize that the biggest missing piece is, in fact, my chest. I have no heart – I am… heartless.

Before me, Edward's face falls, and his eyes drop. "Bella, why do you hide it?"

……………..

I wake with a heavy feeling in my gut, like I've done something so horribly wrong, and I must do all I possibly can to fix it. My eyes swing open, and the first face that comes to mind is that of Edward's. I must call him, I decide, and Charlie, just to make sure he's okay. Groggily, I sit up and out of bed, rubbing my eyes furiously and moving towards the phone that sits on the bedside table.

Bright golden light still fills the room, from the night before, and it takes my eyes a while to adjust to the brightness. I reach for the receiver, and when I regain my vision, I catch sight of a small note taped to the body of the phone.

"Phone is out of order," I read aloud, with a groan, and a roll of my eyes.

I remember there are payphones outside, however, and so I head to the bathroom to clean myself up. If I am going to leave this room, I should at least look reasonable, I tell myself – I wouldn't want people thinking I just rolled out of a pigsty.

After a sufficient washing and with quarters in my pocket, I shuffle down the steps to the entrance room, passing the cheerful Mr. Greyhill who greets me upon seeing me. If I were not so determined to get to the payphones outside as fast as I can, I know I would have probably stopped to wish him a good morning, but there is a pressing feeling of urgency in my bones and I know _need _to call my fiancée and my father. And after that, I need to pay up and head back to Forks.

This trip was pointless, and absolutely ridiculous. I need to go home.

I hold the receiver to my ear, and grapple with the quarters in my pocket, slipping the first one through the slit in the machine. I am about to poke another through, when a familiar voice behind me speaks.

"_You."_


End file.
